The Girl Who Loved The Lion

“Tiny but small.”
–One Lovely Audience Member

Once I knew a girl
Who fell in love with a lion
A great pale lion
The color of sun bleached sand
Whose fangs were long and ivory;
Whose claws were hard and sharp.

But the girl loved the lion
When in a drunken haze she strayed
Into the heart of his den
To lay her hand upon his mane.
And he did not snarl, he did not roar.
Rather, laid his head upon her shoulder.

This girl, she coveted his mane.
She coveted his eyes, vast blue.
She boasted of his fangs and dreamt of his claws
And his knife sharp tongue
Was soft upon her cheek
When the girl that night did love the lion.

This girl, she was no lamb–you must understand
She, callous and cruel.
Perhaps the heart of a lion was
The only she could capture
Not crush.
But you know as well as I
That before being tamed a lion would die.

I’m not sure what happened–
The police never quite new
How the girl ended up on the lion’s insides
But they say it was savage and bloody
The cushions all soaked and red
His claws had torn the tent asunder.

Personally (if you care to know my thoughts–)
I think the lion loved the girl, too
In his own lion way.
But if you know cats the way I do
You know they love to love a thing to death
When they get the chance to.
Perhaps he loved her so dear
And he had to keep her near.
But where nearer to keep the girl
Than in the basket of his belly?